Out of Darkness
by GraveDigger Resurrection
Summary: Summary: Sirius is dead. Harry is at the mercy of the Dursley’s, namely his uncle. It’s just two weeks at Grimmauld Place. What could change? This is Harry’s journey to find the courage and strength within himself and others. A journey out of darkne
1. And Here We Stay

Title: Out of Darkness

Rating: R (Violent/Explicit Content)

Genre: Angst/General  
  
Author's Note: Any and all feedback is appreciated. This was indeed my first HP fanfic, written immediately after reading the fifth book. It has been revised, and you can read the original version on my old writer name (Dementor's Kiss 1013) but be sure not to look further than the first chapter, because I had more posted.  
  
Summary: Sirius is dead. Harry is at the mercy of the Dursley's, namely his uncle. It's just two weeks at Grimmauld Place. What could change? Harry's journey to find the courage and strength within himself and others. A journey out of darkness.

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It was dark. Not the kind of dark you and I are accustomed to, but the desolate, swallowing pitch black that is not softened by the comforting glow of street lights far in the distance. It is the kind of dark that instills terror in your very soul, so that you are paralyzed as it surrounds you, embracing you in it's dance of death.  
  
And then, the scene changed, became something other than a gaping hole. Features shaped, flickering oddly in a weird blue light that danced upon the stone walls. Images became clearer. The faces, and the names, and the horror and the fear all came rushing into the picture. Welcome to the Department of Ministries.  
  
There was a man. There were many in this place, fighting for a cause that suddenly seemed so unclear, but only one was in focus. His eyes were sunken in, lifeless but for spark of cold anger, and a warm flame of courage. His name was Sirius.  
  
"Come on! You can do better than that!" The man's arrogant self assurance permeated the scene, his very essence palpable and clear. Foolish and innocent. The laughter had not completely died from his lips when the red blast hit him in the chest. Eyes wide with a foreign fear of realization that his life had been cut short, he stumbled, stumbled and fell behind the black curtain, into the endless nothingness where the bodiless voices lingered, murmuring senselessly...  
  
"NO!" The scream was answered by no one. Running. It was a boy, a shock of unruly raven hair falling carelessly into his startlingly green eyes. Eyes full of shock at what he had just scene. The horror had not yet permeated his senses. He began to run towards the curtain, to the end of the long corridor that had sprung up between him and his goal. Running.  
  
He was so close. He could hear the murmurs behind the curtain; voices of people fallen into Death itself. His fingers grasped at the black velvet, as he searched desperately...One voice was becoming clear, that of Sirius. The words he suddenly heard stopped his frenzied scramble. "Why did you push me, Harry?"  
  
Push him? The phrase was a stranger to the boy, yet ensnared him like an old lover. So the boy had pushed the man, then. No! He though desperately in his mind, clutching at the velvet once more. The curtain began to fall away, lifting; the mystery behind it was revealing itself...and then...  
  
Crucio! Cold laughter rang through the boy's ears; Voldemort's laughter. The pain, oh god the pain, ripping his body in two. HE looked up, to find Dumbledore standing in front of him, his normally twinkling blue eyes cold and dulled with sadness and full of disappointment. He shook his head slowly, and whispered softly to Harry "You have failed us all, my boy. Now what will we do? You have failed us all."

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The boy, whose name was Harry Potter, woke with a start, his scream dying from his lips as he tumbled off the bed, landing with a harsh thump on his knees. Gasping for breath, he clutched his scar and fought his tears.  
  
He had gotten closer this time than ever before: closer to seeing where his Godfather had gone. But always he heard Sirius's voice through the damned veil, and saw Dumbledore's face, full of weary disappointment, watching the pain inflicted on Harry by Voldemort. And there was accusation in his expression; unadulterated blame. Always the blame. Had he pushed Sirius? Sometimes he wondered now, about his memories from that night. The dream was so insistent, so regular, so ...real. He began to wonder exactly what he had done. Had he pushed Sirius?  
  
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a lock being undone on his door. A quick glance at the clock told him his nightmare had woken his uncle. Again.  
  
The door burst open, and Vernon Dursley stormed into the room , clad in pinstriped pajamas that hid whatever neck he had and accentuated his now purple face. His mustache twitched in fury as he lunged at Harry, grabbing him up off the floor by his neck and shaking him like a weightless rag doll.  
  
"What. Did. I. Tell. You. Boy?" He snarled, making Harry's head jerk around with every word.  
  
"I'm sorry, Uncle. I didn't mean-" Harry began, struggling to breath through his Uncle's death grip.  
  
With a roar of rage, Vernon sent him, flying across the room with his fist. HE was back in Harry's face with a punch to the stomach before Harry could move. The boy could not contain a cry of pain as he felt fire spread up through his abdomen, the wind leaving his lungs in a rush.  
  
"YOU STUPID FREAK! WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT WAKING US UP? ABOUT WAKING ME UP? WELL?" He hit Harry across the side of his head, his glasses skidding into the darkness with a flash of livid pain. Grabbing him by the neck again, his uncle's voice dropped to a menacing growl, his purple face blurry.  
  
"You ruddy little bastard, I'll make you learn this lesson If it takes me the rest of your life." He let go of Harry's neck, instead gripping him by a handful of his raven hair. "You listen to me, and you listen good. If you ever wake me again...I will beat you within an inch of your worthless life, and throw you in the cupboard for the rest of the summer. I will not have you disrupting my household with your...freak-ways. Do I make myself clear boy?" HE asked, yanking Harry's hair so hard he swore he could hear it ripping from his head.  
  
"Y-yes, Uncle V-Vernon," he stuttered quickly, making sure to sound respectful. It didn't matter. "DO NOT TAKE THAT TONE WITH ME BOY! I WILL NOT BE SPOKEN TO LIKE THAT!" Vernon bellowed, his arm landing with great force across Harry's chest, knocking his thin frame onto his back on the hardwood floor. Punching Harry in the stomach, he fell on top of him, and Harry felt what he already knew was there; his uncle's bulging crotch made contact with his thigh.  
  
His uncle let a moan escape him, unguarded as he began to grind himself against Harry. Bile rose in his throat as he watched his uncle's face, screwed up in pleasure. This unspeakable sense of violation was all that kept him bound to this house, this...this miserable farce that anyone dared call a life. He was a captive of his own impotence.  
  
Suddenly, Vernon's eyes snapped open, catching Harry's look of open horror and disgust. HE was up off him in an instant, grabbing him by the arm and twisting so hard Harry was surprised he hadn't heard the tell-tale crack of a bone breaking yet. But his uncle knew better. HE would never leave a visible mark on Harry, never do something that might let this fragile specimen of innocence escape from him for the barest of instants.  
  
HE dragged the boy over to his bed, throwing him down, his head jarring the headboard with force. Another well-placed fist to his stomach, and his uncle's hot breath in his ear ("You are worthless, boy.") was the last breath the monster wasted on him, before turning and blundering away as though it was of no importance that he was shattering what was left of Harry's piece of mind.. The door shut behind the Monster, and the lock clicked back into place, leaving the boy - for that is all he was- utterly alone once more.

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Harry lay still for a moment, willing himself not to be sick. He hadn't eaten for days, and his uncle knew just where to strike him. Not hard enough to cause him to vomit blood, but with just enough force to make dry heaving coughs and endless retches erupt from Harry, as his empty stomach had nothing to bring up  
  
Slowly, on shaking legs, Harry rose, and walked silently over to his mirror, with a cat-like gait. In the orange-ish eerie glow of the street lamp, he could just make out his reflection, blurred by his lack of glasses; they would have to be found in the morning, lest he reawaken the beasts from their respective dens.  
  
Green eyes, sharp and more observant than most knew, and older than most could imagine seeing, stared back at him, along with a pale, slightly pinched face. Black hair was more distraught than usual due to his uncle's...discipline. He saw a slightly darker spot on his forehead, and though blurry, he knew it was his scar. HE touched it gently, with an odd reverence that even he did not understand.  
  
_Why did you push me?  
  
You are worthless.  
_  
His reflection stared back at him; a stranger looking in on himself in the darkness. Staring at the scar burned on his forehead. The scar that so many looked to for a sign of hope. The scar that had gotten so many people he loved and cared about killed. The scar that blessed him with a second chance at life and damned him to this never-ending hell. He was The-Boy-Who- Lived.

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Harry watched the sun rise in it's full, scorching glory through the new bars on his window, stronger and sturdier than the last. He hadn't dared go back to sleep, for fear of disturbing his uncle once more. For fear of hearing and feeling and seeing the accusations and disappointment that faced him in his nightmares. Of being forced to witness a garbled, twisted version of his latest, greatest failure. To see it in a light that felt most damning, and most candid, spelling out in thick, bold letters painted with blood exactly how he had caused the death of the only man he had ever felt entirely comfortable with. No, he much preferred the clean, cold loneliness that faced him in his waking hours.  
  
He missed Hedwig's doleful hoots from the now empty corner of his room. The day he had come returned from King's Cross, his uncle had had a... word with him about his disappearance last summer, and the Order Members who had spoken to Vernon at the station. He knew then that he would be lucky to get enough food for himself, much less Hedwig. So, the first chance he got, he had sent her off, telling her to go find someplace safe for the summer. She had refused to take flight at first, and only when Harry had gotten angry at her refusal had she complied. With a final look at him, she had hooted softly, and flown away into the distance with a freedom of which Harry could no longer even reach in his dreams.  
  
An owl arrived every other day to pick up a letter from Harry to be sent to 12 Grimmauld Place. Uncle Vernon had had Harry write enough letters to last the summer the day after he had gotten home, and took care of the mailing if Harry was...'under the weather.' Harry had thought at the beginning of the summer that Moody's blatant threats might make Uncle Vernon back off, but it had instead accomplished the exact opposite means, infuriating his uncle, and heightening the rage of the monster within to unimaginable levels.  
  
Harry now lay lethargically on his bed, waiting for his day to begin. The Dursleys had been awake for a few minutes now and Harry knew that at any moment- As expected, the lock clicked open. Aunt Petunias shrill, prim voice snapped at him from the other side of the clearest barrier of many between them, "Get out here and make breakfast."  
  
He heard Uncle Vernon stump up beside her, his gait reminiscent but much less dignified than Moody's, and growl " Now boy!"  
  
Harry gave no reply; he had learned long ago that speaking in the morning was like begging for a beating. He simply heaved himself quickly off the bed, ignoring his sore, achingly empty stomach, and the not so subtle throbbing in his head, and went downstairs to cook for his 'family'.  
  
HE sat and watched as they devoured the bacon, eggs, and toast like starving animals instead of the fat pigs they were, as he was expected to do. The heavenly aroma wafted around him, but he had had nothing on his stomach for so long that he was not sure whether his stomach would grumble in longing, or plan a vicious revolt against him in disgust.  
  
Finally, taking a giant slurp of his coffee, Vernon spoke to him, the Monster subdued for the moment. "We're leaving, boy."  
  
"Leaving?" Harry's question slipped out before he could control it. His uncle's mustache quivered, but he ignored his mistake for once.  
  
"Yes, LEAVING," he snarled, never bothering to make eye-contact with Harry.  
  
"We're taking Dudley to Disney World today. We'll be gone a fortnight," Aunt Petunia added sharply from her spot at the kitchen window, watching Mrs. So-and-so next door with a shrewd glee.  
  
"S-so, you'll be leaving me here, then?" He asked slowly, unsure what to think about this. No Uncle Vernon meant no...But no Dursleys meant silence. More time for the agony of aloneness to collapse around him and smother him.  
  
"Of course not," his uncle growled, obviously appalled by the very notion of leaving the unpleasant growth that was his nephew alone in his sacred roost. "Leave you here alone in my house? I think not, boy. You'd have the place up in flames within the hour. You'll be staying with Mrs. Figg."  
  
A spark of hope fluttered in Harry's stomach for the first time all summer. HE would be spending two weeks with Mrs. Figg, his batty old cat-loving neighbor. Mrs. Figg, Privet Drive's resident squib. Mrs. Figg, a member of the Order. He forced his face to remain neutral, if not tingeing it with false disappointment. "Oh."  
  
"Oh is right, boy, and you should be damned grateful she was willing to take you. Don't know why in the hell she would want to..."  
  
Harry had no time to respond to that; a sharp knock on the back off his head sent him skidding sideways, stumbling out of his chair. "Get me more eggs, freak!" Dudley's thick grunt reminded Harry fleetingly of Crabbe and Goyle, as he snatched up his whale-sized cousin's plate and scooped more eggs out of the pan.  
  
He set it back down in front of Dudley, and turned to go back and sit, but tripped when Dudley stuck his barrel-sized leg out in front of him. He did not manage to keep himself upright, instead landing heavily on his stomach. He cringed, and rose slowly as Dudley kicked him in the ribs, sniggering. The fool was no longer afraid of what Harry might do to him; he knew Harry was powerless. The meal continued in silence.

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After breakfast, Harry loaded the trunk of the Dursleys' car full of their belongings, and then climbed in the back seat with Dudley, his own paltry bag of clothes scrunched mercilessly in between his hot, sticky cousin and himself. Dudley's bulk filled a majority of the usually spacious backseat, and Harry found himself suddenly very glad that he was nothing but skin and bones.  
  
His uncle bumped roughly over the curb in front of Mrs. Figg's house, obviously anxious to get his plague of a nephew away from his family before he spread and infected them all with his 'unnaturalness'. Harry was as quick as possible in getting out of the car, as eager to get away from them as they were to rid of him. HE was not fast enough, however, a hard fist connecting with the small of his back as he got out. Dudley's way of saying goodbye.  
  
Harry was unpleasantly surprised when his uncle got out at well, but it came as no surprise when his thick, beefy hand grabbed Harry by the arm, and forcefully slowed Harry's gait as they made their way up to Mrs. Figg's front door. He stopped them when they got to the oak slab, and pressed himself flush against Harry's back, growling low in his ear, "Remember your manners, boy. I want to keep on good terms with someone who will take you off my hands. And you had better well remember; no funny business." Harry knew what his uncle was implying, and suppressed a laugh at the absurdity and his uncle's ignorance. It was done with ease when he felt something harden slightly against his lower back, a shiver running coldly down his spine. Vernon began speaking again, his lips closer to Harry's ear, his breath hot now, and more dangerous. "And boy, if you tell anyone about what goes on in our home..." HE trailed off, his menace clear. "You deserve everything you get, boy, and more. You with any less care than you're worth...I will make sure you never have the chance to speak to anyone ever again. Do you understand me, boy? You deserve it. All of it.  
  
'I am worthless' Harry added silently. He no longer knew if his uncle was lying or not about him deserving what he got. Years of a slow but steady wearing down of his self esteem had all but killed his self-view. He would tell no one. He had not tried since he was young. It had done no good then, and would do no good now. He lived with the Dursleys for his protection. Protection from the outside world. Harry smirked. In all the brilliance of wizards and witches in kind, no one had thought to question if he needed protection from the inside world: his 'family'.  
  
Aloud, he murmured, "Yes Sir." No Sir. Three bags full Sir. Whatever it takes to let me spend two weeks away from you, Sir.  
  
"Good," his uncle growled in his ear, and after a slight thrust forward, he pulled himself away from Harry's back; his eyes glazed slightly in that way they were whenever he was arou...Harry couldn't bring himself to think it, the word leaving his brain involuntarily. Without looking back, Uncle Vernon returned to the car, and sped off to his vacation with his precious 'Duddikins' and his dear, dear wife. Away from the dark blasphemous secret that was Harry Potter.  
  
With a sigh of relief tinged with his unending defeat, Harry turned, and knocked.

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The door was thrown wide open instantly after his second knock, and Harry could not suppress a half-grin at the picture that greeted him. A friendly face smiling in welcome. "Harry, Harry, dear! Come in, Come in! Oh it's good to see you again!" Mrs. Figg said warmly, patting his back with a large smile. Her appearance was immaculate, somewhat younger and altogether more concise. She was a superb actress, apparently, having fooled him for all these years.  
  
"Thanks, Mrs. Figg," HE muttered, grinning sheepishly in spite of himself. Her house, however, he noted absently, still smelled strongly of cabbage.  
  
"Oh, Harry dear, do call me Arabella. Goodness, is that all you brought?" She said with a click of her tongue as she noticed Harry's small suitcase. "Well, Arthur said you probably wouldn't have had a chance to do your schoolwork yet, so why don't we pop over and get the rest of your stuff before we go?" She opened the door, and ushered him out, his bag in tow.  
  
"Go? Go where?" Harry asked, bewildered. He hadn't expected to be leaving Privet Drive before September. Arabella laughed. "Where do you think, Harry? Ron and... Oh what is that girl's name-Hermione- have been staying there the whole summer. They'll be quite pleased to see you. Come on, then, let's go!" She winked at him, and Harry realized wryly that she was still a bit eccentric despite the obvious accentuations she placed on those characteristics for her cover.  
  
And so they returned to Number 4, with it's pristine lawn and immaculate front walk. Harry entered the house with ease, using the spare key hidden under the welcome mat, but stopped when he reached the entrance hall, his insides twisting, suddenly feeling even more leaden than they had before. He was overcome with a dawning realization that he did not want Mrs. Figg to be witness to the world in which he lived when he was not at Hogwarts. He did not want her to see his room that was only his because he no longer fit in the cupboard under the stairs. Did not want her to see what this house was like, absent of any memorabilia that might give hint to a fourth, unwanted member of this household.  
  
HE looked over his shoulder at Mrs. Figg, waiting patiently for him to move forward. Harry was overcome with the desperate urge to keep her right there, so she would never see. To many suspicions could be raised. To many questions Harry did not feel up to facing.  
  
However, his numbed mind come up with no plausible excuse, and so, he could do nothing but sigh as he continued in, a humming Arabella Figg behind him.  
  
Harry stopped when he got to the cupboard under the stairs. The place that, deep inside Harry, he missed. It had been the only place in the world that had been his- Harry's and no one else's, and was still -as absurd as it seemed even to himself- sacred in his mind. He realized that the small but sturdy lock was safely secured, and he had no idea where the Dursleys kept the key- they made sure of that. God forbid Harry have access to anything that linked the Dursleys to his world.  
  
He ran his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit he had developed of late, and glanced uneasily at the older lady, who had stopped humming, and arched her eyebrow at him in a rather peculiar manner. "Erm, Mrs. Fi- er Arabella, I don't have the uh...that is to say, the...door is locked and I..." He faltered time and time again, having difficulty verbalizing the conditions that were set before them.  
  
He was rescued from further floundering attempts as understanding lit her face suddenly, and picking a spare strand of cat hair off her front, she smiled vaguely. "Oh yes, Ron mentioned something about this sort of thing to Arthur. He's fixed it with the ministry if you know what I mean, although after last year, I doubt they'd dare expel you no matter what you do. You may go ahead and open it with your wand. He also said that the ministry was sending you a letter of...er their apologies and deepest regrets for the whole 'misunderstanding'." She grinned slyly, and began humming again.  
  
Harry gazed at her for a long moment, puzzled. Apologies from the ministry? He felt his mind clouding and knew it was best not to concentrate on it. So, with a slight shrug, he turned and went up the stairs, followed by his neighbor. When they had reached the smallest bedroom of Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, Harry froze again. So many questions could be asked, so many accusations. What would his uncle think? A shudder of fear ran through him, his leaden insides writhing for an instant, but he realized detachedly that there was no help to be had. None at all. The best thing he could see to do was talk through the questions with mindless prattle, keep her away from the obvious lack of...just about everything. "Er, it's a bit of a mess, if you'll please accept my apologies. I er, wasn't expecting any visitors."  
  
"Oh that's all right dear. I see they even left the lock undone for you!" It was said lightly, but something very much like anger flitted across her face as she eyed the heavy padlock with obvious distaste. Reddening at the words the silence spoke, Harry hurriedly went inside.  
  
The room itself was actually fairly neat, if not vibrating with a heavy sense of desolation. Harry could always feel it thick in the air, swallowing him much as the darkness did inside his little cupboard when he was a child, squeezing out the air and the light and the life. He was very claustrophobic, a thing he realized suddenly, that no one, not even Ron, knew about. It was a senseless, encompassing fear that he had always kept to himself.  
  
Only a few articles of large, ragged clothes were strewn about the room, and the empty cage stood cleanly in the corner. It hummed with loneliness louder than the rest of the room, Harry desperately missing its usual occupant. He wasted no time, quickly retrieving his wand from under the loose floorboard, along with his invisibility cloak, his photo album, and the mirror Sirius gave him. He carefully avoided Mrs. Figg's gaze.  
  
_'Ask me no secrets, I'll tell you no lies.'_  
  
Harry had been terrified for the first time that his trunk would be burned after his return from Hogwarts, so large had the ugly black monster inside his uncle swelled. That was the reason those few, precious items were kept hidden. His Firebolt was still at Hogwarts after Umbridge confiscated it, and everything else was of no real importance to him. They had no connection with the people who had loved him. The people who had died for him. All three of them. Harry shut his eyes tightly for a moment, the illness of grief creeping up blindly on him, silently and swiftly as the night.  
  
He cleared his head, numbing the pain again, knowing he was only postponing his inevitable collapse, but also very much aware that it could not be in the presence of others. Saviors did not break. Placing everything but his wand on the bed, he returned downstairs, Mrs. Figg once more trailing behind, apparently intent on shadowing him. He stood in front of the cupboard, and whispered firmly 'Alohamora'. The very handle of the little door shot across the room, slamming into the wall before rolling to a stop on the carpeted floor. Harry's surprise at the extreme reaction was eclipsed by the thought of his aunt seeing what had been done. She would tell Vernon. He gave the knob on the ground a dread-filled glance before opening the musty little cupboard to see his trunk sitting there very much in tact, and looking very heavy indeed.  
  
I can do any magic I need to, today?" He queried cautiously. She nodded at him with another almost mischievous smile, and he felt his face slipping in to a smile, and found himself grinning back at her. Strange. HE was sure he had forgotten how to do that. The smile on his face made him feel all the more dead inside.  
  
Mrs. Figg spoke. "In fact," she said slowly, in a whisper. "I wouldn't be surprised if you were allowed to do magic whenever you need to from now on. After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is after you." She winked at him again, nothing but he eyelid moving, and images of that night at the Department of Mysteries came crashing down on him. Again, he smiled back. It was painful this time, as he had expected it to be from the first.  
  
HE turned back to his trunk, trying to pull something useful from his drowsy mind and remember the charm needed to move the wooden case. Finally, the memory clicked in his brain, and he said firmly, unsure of his own abilities 'locomotor trunk'. To his surprise, and Mrs. Figg's delight, the trunk lifted placidly off the ground and followed the movements of his wand. The duo went back upstairs again, behind the gliding wooden box.  
  
Once back inside his room, he let the trunk settle on the floor, and looked around the room. Nervously, he lifted his wand again, and cried 'Pack!' as he had seen Tonks do last summer. That seemed like a distant thing now, from a different life. One where light was allowed to permeate the now dark recesses of his mind. To his utter shock, this time all the items in his room zoomed into his trunk including the objects on his bed, and settled themselves in quite neatly. Tonks' had been a mess when she had done it, he mused.  
  
Beside him, Mrs. Figg clapped her hands in glee. "Oh everyone wondered if you would remember, especially Nymphadora! With the exception of Minerva, I daresay I've never seen a neater job of it. How many times have you done this before?"  
  
"Just that once," Harry answered, bemused by her impressed reaction. Anyone feeling impressed with him seemed ludicrous, but he had not the energy to sway her view.  
  
"Ah, well, we'd best be off, then. Here, I have our Portkey Item right here. It's rather small, but it will do since it's just the two of us," she said, pulling out a black fountain pen and setting it on his bed.  
  
Harry stared at the object and then back at her, fear filling him. "But I can't-"  
  
Mrs. Figg waved him off, misunderstanding. "Oh, don't worry about making it work, Dumbledore said you knew the charm to put on it, and he's already fixed its location. We'll go right to headquarters. Go on, then! Do your stuff!" She smiled at him, and he wondered how this could be the same 'batty neighbor' he thought he had known all his life. HE wondered if he could make himself do this.  
  
Staring dubiously down at the pen, a feeling of dread settled in the pit of his stomach. He absolutely despised Portkeys. Ever since Cedric...They terrified him, another phobia of many that no one on earth was privy to. Sirius might have been, eventually. Sirius was gone now. Harry's throat felt thick and blocked. He shook his head to clear it of those thoughts, and mumbled 'Portus'. He nodded at Mrs. Figg to indicate it was done, and then, shoving his wand down the front of his shirt and grabbing his trunk in one hand, he indicated for her to grab hold of the pen with him. "One, Two, Three!" He said, and they both grabbed hold. He felt a familiar tug behind his navel, and they were off, his own voice screaming in his mind No more graveyards. Oh please, no more graveyards. He hated Portkeys.

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_So, whaddya think? Gimme feedback, or I can't improve. Also, anyone interested in being my beta?_


	2. BAck Again

Alrighty, after that last stunning and horrible cliffy, here it is! The long awaited next chapter. ::silence...:: Alright, fine! throws hands up in disgust and walks away

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He hit the ground hard, staggering to his knees as his glasses flew off his face. Unable to see clearly, Harry felt defenseless and disoriented. Expecting a high, cold voice at and moment- Kill the spare.- He pulled his wand out, his instincts readied for the battle that his muddled mind expected. Instead, he was assaulted by noise.

"Harry! Oh Harry, it's so good to see you again!" The voice of a girl greeted him, and something grabbed him by the neck, smothering him. His fear slowly receded, leaving his heart to pound wildly in his chest without reason

"'Mione?" He muttered, still unable to see clearly.

Suddenly his glasses were put back on his face, and a gentle, male voice filled his ears. "Here you are Harry. I see you made it safely."

Blinking, he looked at Remus Lupin, who's face was pale and more lined than last time he saw him, and his hair held more gray. His very essence was aged, full of suffering and grief for another senseless loss. Another death caused by someone trying to protect Harry.

Hermione released him then, still smiling broadly, and he was suddenly aware that behind him Mrs. Figg was straightening out her clothes, dusting herself off and muttering and that the dank kitchen was filled with people, all watching him with hawk's eyes. Distrusting eyes? He wondered.

He was surrounded by greeting voices, but for a moment, Harry ignored them, struggling to stand, with the help of Lupin. He looked down at the now useless pen in his hand, dropping it from his grasp like a hot coal, and stumbling back a step. HE heard himself murmur, as though from a far distance, "Portkeys..."a shiver ran through him. "I hate them."

There was silence for a moment, like the kind you hear at a funeral when someone bursts into tears that are utterly understood and totally uncomfortable for the rest of those present. "Well, Potter, this is no graveyard, I promise you," Growled a voice from a corner, and Harry looked up to see Alastor 'Mad Eye' Moody staring at him with his normal eye intently, his magically eye rolling about wildly in its socket.

"Although I've seen cemeteries in better shape than this dump,"Tonks called, her voice slightly over-bright, but effectively breaking the cold quiet.

Ron made his way from his seat at the table, grinning broadly. "Harry! How are ya, mate?" HE grasped Harry's hand, clapping his shoulder. Harry suddenly realized that he was almost as tall as Ron was- probably about 6' 1" now. .Surprising that living in a dark little hole all those years hadn't stunted his growth.

"I'm fine, now that I can breath again," he said with a teasing grin at Hermione, who 'hrmphed' airily, but smiled back all the same. A warmth swept through him that he had not felt in a month.

He was suddenly swept up in a hug, from Mrs. Weasley. "Harry, I'm so glad to have you with us." Her embrace was warm and tight, and Harry felt he normally would have been made to feel safe there if it had not caused such pain in his empty, bruised stomach. He had become good at ignoring the constant ache, and did so now, muttering in return,

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley." His voice was muffled, but she heard him, and smiling, released him to let the others have their turn.

One by one, he shook about a dozen people's hands, wanting nothing more than to disappear. Almost all of them were repeats from last summer. There was Moody, And Tonks, Her hair now a brilliant blue and her eyes a bizarre deep green, and Dedalus Diggle, excitable as ever, and Sturgis Podmore, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, his deep voice rumbling through Harry's ribcage. Next, Mundungus Fletcher, Mr. Weasley, Bill, Charlie, a laughing Ginny and, to his surprise...

"Fred, George!"

"Wotcher, Harry!" Fred said, grinning at him, and bowing with a flourish.

"Jolly good to see you again, old chap!" George cried enthusiastically, shaking his hand.

With a glance at Mrs. Weasley, he whispered to them, "How'd she take it?"

The twins faces got rather dark. "We'll uh, tell you later," Muttered George.

"Let's just say we haven't been disowned," Fred added with a sigh.

"Yet," was all George mumbled. Harry felt more guilt, realizing that giving the twins the money had been the cause for their departure. Another fault in his growing library.

"Well, Harry, why don't you go get settled in? Lunch won't be for almost an hour, so you can spend some time with everyone," Mrs. Weasley said kindly.

Harry forced himself from his contemplation, managing another smile, and a cheerful "Uh, Thanks, Mrs. Weasley!"

He was already being dragged down the hall by five people, cynically glad that someone knew where he was going, when Mr. Weasley called out to him, "Hold on a moment, please, Harry." The others looked at him with puzzled faces that he was hopeful mirrored his own, and started back inside the kitchen, but Moody spoke up.

"Only Harry." His growl was final and dismissive. With mutinous looks and nasty grumbles, they trudged back upstairs telling Harry they'd be waiting for him to tell them everything he heard. Obviously some sense of authority had been established around the grisly Auror.

This left Harry standing uneasily in a room full of members of the Order. The eyes were on him again, and he forced himself not to flinch away. "uh...what's up?" He asked after a moment of silence.

"How are you, Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked suddenly. He swore he could hear Lupin give a disgusted snort from the corner, but when he looked, his face was neutral.

He was careful not to skip a beat too many, nor answer one too soon. "Fine..."

"Really?" Mr. Weasley asked again.

Now Harry was feeling distinctly disconcerted. How was he? What in the bloody hell kind of question was that? Fine? He was anything but. The darkness that he was in even at that very moment made it hard for him to stand up straight. "Really, Mr. Weasley, I'm fine." He said, with an easy smile

"Arthur."

"Excuse me?"

Mr. Weasley smiled at him, not noticing when Harry did not return it. "Arthur, Harry, I believe it's time you called us by our first names. Let me re-introduce everyone." And he did. It was now Arthur, Molly, Remus, Arabella, Dedalus, Sturgis, Kingsley, Mundungus, Alastor and

" Nymph?" Harry asked innocently, as Tonks went bright red with embarrassment and fury. HE could play his part well, no matter what. He had learned the game when he was young, battling whatever injuries had been inflicted upon him with ease.

"It's Tonks." She ground out. "And if you ever call me anything but that, I will-" She never got to finish, because Harry suddenly let out a snort of laughter, his first all summer. Never mind that it was fake, he now knew he was still capable of it.

Arabella broke in suddenly. "He did remember that spell you did last year, Nymphadora, dear, and he did an excellent job of it!" Tonks narrowed her eyes dangerously, but went over and opened Harry's trunk.

She gasped in surprise, and then made a jealous face at Harry. "That's damn excellent, and how did you do that?" The rest of the room broke into laughter, Harry again feeling more miserable that anyone felt fit to praise him.

Suddenly, Mr. Weasley turned serious. "Harry, actually, I just wanted to tell you that the Order is having a meeting, tonight, and, well, you'll be joining us."

Harry's mouth dropped in genuine surprise. "Oh." He thought for a moment, and then his nervousness kept carefully in check, said nonchalantly, "Uh, did I do something wrong?" Everyone laughed once again.

"No Harry, you didn't. Fred and George are members as well, and were the ones who suggested it," Mr. Weasley said with a chuckle. "Although we had been discussing it for some time anyway. After last year..." he trailed off. "After last year, we decided you have just as much right to be a member as anyone else, if not more."

"Although, that's not why Fred and George suggested it, as you well know. They felt indebted to you for giving them the funds to start their business" Mrs. Weasley's eyes were narrower than usual, and Harry could tell that not only did the joke-shop thing go over well, she had also lost the argument over letting him become a member of the Order. Another person he had made unhappy. A part of him felt absurd at the self-accusation that popped into his mind, but a voice in his head very much like his uncle, enforced the idea strongly.

"Tell her you don't know what she's talking bout. She's only guessing," Mr. Weasley whispered rapidly in his ear. Harry felt the advice sound.

"Er, Mrs. Wea-" Her eyes narrowed further. "Ahhh, I mean, uh M-molly, I d-don't know what you're talking about. What business?"

"HARRY JAMES POTTER!" She screeched "DON'T YOU DARE LIE TO ME! I KNOW YOU GAVE THEM THE TOURNAMENT MONEY!"

Harry's eyes went wide, and he stumbled back a step. She sounded oddly and absurdly like Aunt Petunia when she did that. Then Uncle Vernon would step in. "Don't let her get to you boy." A low growl came from Moody, and Harry flinched at the name his uncle always called him. "The Weasleys now have quite a good deal of money thanks to those two. She's just got a bone to pick with everyone since we decided you should become a member." Mrs. Weasley sniffed, and huffed away into the other room.

Harry shook his head, that endless guilt washing over him again. "I-I'm sorry. I-it seemed like a good idea at the time. I-I didn't mean to upset anyone, honestly, I'm sor-" He was cut off promptly by Mr. Weasley.

"Don't worry Harry. Molly's just worried about you, you know that. As for me, I'm just glad the boys are doing something they love. In fact, I think I should thank you for giving them the money to do this with. That money was hard earned, we all know."

Harry looked away. "It..." he shook his head, and looked back at him. They would never understand. It was blood-money. "Is that all Mr. Weas- uh, A-Arthur?"

Mr. Weasley smiled at him. "Yes, go on, Harry, we'll call you down in about twenty minutes for lunch." Harry nodded, and moved to pick up his trunk. He stopped, and turned warily back to Mr. Weasley.

"A-Arthur...Mrs. Figg- er...that is to say, Arabella-"he corrected himself quickly at the warning looks he got, not wanting to displease any of them. "She said I could use magic today...uh, does that still apply?

Mr. Weasley grinned rather childishly and nodded. "Yes Harry, and..." his voice dropped to an excited whisper, leaving Harry feeling inexplicably pleased, a genuine emotion that startled him; Mr. Weasley had been much too serious so far. "That's another matter we will discuss tonight. IT seems the ministry, well, let's just say, they are very sorry for not believing you." HE grinned again, and his voice went back to normal level. "Now, off you go!"

Harry nodded, and pointed his wand at the trunk. 'locomotor trunk' then he waved it out the door, which swung wide open on its own to accommodate the object gliding through it. HE quickly followed and disappeared into his Godfather's old house.

The house felt older and more neglected than ever, despite the fact that every room was now livable and more homey. Even the screaming portrait of Mrs. Black had been removed, and Harry suddenly found he missed it very much. It had been a part of the house, and the house a part (though a very unwanted one) of Sirius. It was foreign and cold, and lonely now, as though cleaning it of its relics had destroyed the somewhat nasty essence of the house. And Sirius was not here. Would never be again.

Harry reflected on what Mr. Weasley had said. So, Fudge had finally opened his eyes. Wonderful. And late. Much, much too late. Some part of him was glad the Ministry believed him, but bitter anger filled him at the thought that they had not seen it soon enough. That his testimony had not been worth enough to make them see the light. Again, he had failed. If they had seen the truth sooner, perhaps Sirius would not have perished. If he had only convinced them.

Why did you push me?

In the light of the day, Harry thought he understood the question with more clarity. It was a question not from Sirius, but from himself. If he had only listened to Hermione, heeded her advice and just stayed where he was supposed to, there would have been no need for his godfather to come and try and rescue him. Why did you push me?

You are worthless.

Yes, perhaps he was.

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"Well, what did they say?"

"What did you talk about?"

"It must have been something important!"

"Tell us Harry!"

Voices cascaded down on Harry as he entered his own room. Fred, George, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione were waiting eagerly for his report, though a look at the twins told him they were acting and already knew. He felt the corners of his mouth curve upwards into a small smile. "My summer has been great so far, thanks for asking. How about yours?" Ron punched him in the arm lightly, Harry fighting a flinch.

"Tell us!" Ginny commanded, scowling.

Harry was suddenly nervous. He didn't want them all to be angry because he was now in the order and they weren't. HE didn't want to lose the only people he still trusted over something so foolish. He gave them all a weak smile. "Well, uh, you see...I'm...in the Order. Your dad just told me, Ron."

There was a shocked silence, Harry's heart plummeting to his feet before a turmoil of noise erupted. Ginny squealed in excitement, and Ron slapped Harry's back enthusiastically. "Harry, that's great, mate! Now you can tell us loads of stuff and we can be in on everything too!" Harry heaved a secret sigh of relief.

"Oh, Harry that's wonderful," Hermione said, but her face held worry. He knew where she was going. "But, Harry, isn't that putting you in more danger? I mean, you'll be an even better target for V-Voldemort." Hermione stumbled over the name, but she said it.

"Oh come on, Hermione! He's already number one on You-Know-Who's list! It hardly matters, does it?" Ron said, exasperated, saving Harry from an answer.

Hermione glared at him. "For heaven's sake, Ron, will you just say his name? VOLDEMORT. And yes, I know that, but..." here she turned to Harry. "I just want you to be careful." Her eyes were slightly bright.

Harry smiled at her, a whisper of something human in his heart. "Don't worry, Hermione, if I get in to any trouble, I've always got D.A. at my back, now don't I?" Then he added, almost to himself, "Or at least our old members. I doubt we'll be having meetings anymore." Another wonderful mess he had created.

Hermione smiled in an odd way, and shook her head. "You're wrong Harry." When she saw the puzzlement in his eyes, her grin grew broader, as did everyone else's. "Dumbledore was here a few weeks ago, and he mentioned to us that he thought D.A. was an excellent thing, and he would most likely be adding it to our curriculum requirements."

Harry was more confused. Continuing it? Hadn't it already caused enough trouble? "But as what? We already have a DADA class. And Dumbledore was actually here?"

"Yeah Harry, you'll get to see him tonight. Bill said he was bringing along some more members we hadn't seen here yet tonight for dinner and the meeting, " Ron said, grinning meaningfully at him.

"As for what the class will be, I assume it would be dueling, but when they'll fit it into our schedules, I don't know," Hermione said with a worried sigh.

"Maybe they'll cut off potions," Ron muttered darkly, and Harry managed a laugh with Ginny, while Hermione scowled.

"Fat chance, Ronny," George said, making a small vase zoom enthusiastically about the room.

"Yeah, when we were there, we came up with about sixty different perfectly good reasons why potions should be cancelled," Fred added, having a book chase the vase.

"Dumbledore wouldn't have any of it."

"Snape was quite agreeable though, said he'd love to get us brats out of his class for good." Everyone laughed, even Hermione, though it was slightly reluctant. She was to busy staring seriously at Harry. He returned the pointed look, daring her to ask the question.

'Are you alright?'

But she said nothing, and after a bit, everyone paired off and began to play wizard chess. As Harry's knight brought Ron's queen to its knees, a quarter of an hour later he felt her gaze on him again. Now uncomfortable, his constant state of worry growing, Harry made a face at her, and felt the top of his head. "Whassamatter, Hermione? I haven't turned in to a hippogriff, have I?" HE had to make it light, or he felt he might not be able to keep up his act.

Ron snorted at this, but Hermione's gaze just grew more intense. "How are you, Harry?" She asked him quietly after a second, her face considering and wary.

Harry blanched, taken off guard that she had actually posed the question to him, then felt his irritation growing. How many times was he going to be asked that hideously stupid question? How many times was he going to have to answer fine? Harry knew very well he was the furthest thing from 'fine' but he also knew that even when people asked that question, 'fine' was the only thing they ever wanted to hear. Perhaps he was acting too well, taking everything so easily that people were beginning to wonder. "I'm fine, Hermione," he answered just as gravely, knowing she wouldn't be satisfied with a light answer.

"Really, Harry?" She queried again, using a scowling sort of pout that she hadn't favored since her first year.

Harry's anger pounded toward the surface. Since when wasn't his word good enough? No one would believe him; no one would trust him. That's what happens when you get people killed the inner voice that sounded amazingly like his uncle snarled at him.

He was saved from saying something regrettable to his friend by Ron, who first cursed at Harry for his last move, and then groaned at Hermione, glaring at her. "Bloody hell, Hermione, he said he was fine! What do you want from him, a signed parchment?" She gave him a nasty look, but did not press the matter, turning her gaze down and continued to play her game against Ginny.

She did not get the chance, however, for at that moment, Lupin's voice sounded from the doorway. "Lunch." It was said softly enough that no one but Harry jumped, but then, every movement or sound startled him, these days.

Everyone filed out quickly, mumbling about starving and the likes, but Harry hung back, sensing Lupin wanted to talk with him. When he reached the doorway where his former professor still stood, he stopped, dread filling him. "Professor?"

Hazel eyes met his emerald ones. "Remus, Harry. I'm not your professor at the moment, though I will be returning this year."

A spark of joy ignited in Harry's stomach, the first in several months. Having Remus teach was going to be...Harry felt the year perhaps held promise after all. But then, he reconsidered. What if Remus blamed him? He had every right to, after all, Harry was responsible for the death of his two best friends. If he blamed him, it would be entirely understandable.

And Harry thought it might kill him.

But the expression in Remus' eyes was not one of anger or accusation, and Harry felt a small smile tug up the corners of his mouth. Seeing, the look on Remus' face, however, the smile disappeared quickly, replaced by an angry frown. "Are you here to ask if I'm ok?" The question came out tersely, and slightly peevish. Harry cringed inwardly at his tone, but did not apologize. He did not think Remus would strike him. He hoped not.

To his surprise, Lupin actually grinned, a smile that momentarily made it possible for Harry to see the man he had met in his third year. Then it was gone again, and the older, sadder man returned. HE shook his head, and snorted mirthlessly, reinforcing Harry's earlier theory about the noise he had made during Mr. Weasley's question. "I wouldn't ask you such a stupid question, Harry. I feel like...well, excuse me, but... shit, and you look like it, so I'm guessing you feel the same."

Harry frowned at this, feeling self-conscious and worried that his condition was more noticeable than he had thought. "I- I don't look that bad-"

Lupin shook his head, smiling gently. "I don't mean it like that. But you're much thinner and paler, and you have circles under your eyes, and you feel...older." He didn't question if Harry knew what he meant, and Harry realized it was because Lupin felt the same way. Like they were both on the outside looking in at something they could never have but desperately wanted. The only difference was that Harry was to blame for this predicament, and Lupin had just been swept up for the merciless ride.

"Well...I suppose we'd better go down. Ron's mum doesn't approve of tardiness," Harry said after a moment, praying his voice did not relay the hollowness he felt inside him.

"Or skipping meals," Lupin added with a somewhat unhappy look. Harry shared the feeling, but did not reply. He realized he would have to choke something down, or face the consequences of suspicion. And what consequences they would be. With a sigh, he followed the older man downstairs.

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Well, did you think it was as bad as _I _ thought it was?  
::shakes head in disgust at self::

Anyway, I've decided that there isn't going to be a ton of action in this fic until the end. This story is more my attempt to get inside a somewhat darker Harry's head. And give him the happy ending he deserves, of course! So, this chappie just sort of pulled the plot along...a little...maybe...

I have several more chapters done already, but like to wait for response to see if you like where I'm going! So, the faster the reviews, the faster the updates!

Alrighty, on to the best segment of our show today: REVIEW RESPONSE!

Krys thanks for the Review, M'dear! I am glad I got the Vernon/Harry part down to your liking. (This is the part where we pretend I'm older than I actually am, and you promise not to rat on me! ::grins::) I was trying to make it repulsive without being totally graphic. And...I have no qualms about you writing for me! Hehehe. In fact...I'd never considered that particular plot before, but I love it! So...Am I doing better with the new version than the last? Lemme know! (And I forgive you for your lack of update, if FFnet is still being an Umbridge)

Carmen here's your update, my friend! Enjoy!

Goldilocks Thanks for the offer to be my beta! But I think I found one. I much appreciate your reviews (All of them) As for the lock thing....very insightful. There's your answer. (Jeesh, I sound just like JKR) I'm glad you think I got the molestation part down pat. I don't think Vernon really _wants_ Harry, so to speak...his violence just...morphs a little sometimes. (I will remind everyone that it is _still_ violence, even if in a different form.) THANKS FOR RECCOMENDING MY STORY!

Yami Grrr...I _would_ agree with you, but, I must admit...except for the Harry/Ron thing I have in the works (I know, what is WRONG with me?) I'm more of a het writer. (For now...) But keep up the work on your fic! It's phenomenal! And remember, my fellow Funk Baby...BAND IS NOT A DATE! Luv ya...

MaraWeaves I appreciate the encouragement, and will try to live up to your expectations!

So...Reviews are welcome, as are suggestions, though they may not be added uintill a little later, seeing as how I've already got the story written out to a certain point. But if NOONE likes this chapter, I'll think about some rewrites!

Asphodel


	3. Lunch and the Arrivals

_A/N: Right, next chapter up. There's some action here, but I'm not impressed with it. Still, I hope you might enjoy it. School has started, so my updates might get sporadic now, but, there aren't that many of you who care anyway, so..._

* * *

Harry sat down quietly at his place between Hermione and Ron; Lupin seated across from him, flanked by Moody and Bill. The others had already taken their seats around the huge table, though Podmore, Shacklebolt, Diggle and Fletcher where nowhere to be found. Harry looked down at the plate in front of him, staring nauseously at the tuna on toast with crisps. Perhaps he could pocket some of it to make it look like he'd eaten something... 

As everyone began eating, he sat in silence, wary of the eyes that kept passing over him. He

occasionally picked up a crisp, putting it to his lips before nonchalantly setting it back down on his plate.Talk at lunch was light, everyone laughing and joking rather jovially, although Harry was mostly an observer. Mrs. Weasley and Bill were having their standard argument about his hair, though it appeared to be growing steadily more heated as time went by. Harry waited until he was sure all the adults were immersed in chatter, before asking Ron quietly, "So, what about Percy?"

At the mention of their older brother, the twins, who sat next to Hermione, and Ginny on the other side of Ron, turned their gaze toward Harry. Ron shook his head in a depressed fashion, and muttered, "He hasn't contacted us since Fudge made it public."

"We did see him once, in Diagon Alley, and he looked almost afraid to speak. HE might have, but then Dad," Ginny paused hesitantly. "Well, Dad said something loudly about the kind of people who don't believe Dumbledore, much less family." She finished this with a miserable glance at her plate.

"Stupid stuck-up git deserved it," Fred snarled in a low tone.

"Asinine buffoon, preferring to kiss up to his beloved Ministry than trust us," George added darkly.

"Poor Mum, it's tearing her up. She leaves the room if anyone even mentions it," Ginny remarked this with a sigh, as she nibbled on a crisp.

Harry was quiet, having no response for that. He had been considering Percy a lot lately. Wondering about his motives and his reasoning. He was determined to make a name for himself, a boy in a family of 9, all red-headed and freckle-faced, all poor and well known as kind-hearted muggle-lovers. But he wanted to be Percy, as Harry saw it, not another Weasley. He wanted to make a name for himself and could only see a way to do that by become as clean, and prim and distant from his roots as possible, looking down on all his ties to the past. Deep down, Harry thought maybe they were more alike than he had ever given credit to. After all, that's all Harry himself wanted now, not to break ties with the people around him, but to become Harry. Just Harry.

At that moment, Mrs. Weasley, having apparently given up with her fight over Bill's hair, said loudly, "Where on earth is the mail? It should have arrived by now."

As though waiting for the signal, three owls swooped out of the fireplace into the kitchen, Harry the only one at all surprised by this. He was about to comment on it, when one of the owls, a snowy white one, landed on his shoulder with a soft hoot. "Hedwig!" Her amber eyes studied him, seemingly anxious. She pecked him on the ear affectionately, showing no signs of leaving her roost on his shoulder.

"It must be a letter from Dumbledore," Tonks said, twirling a curly blue lock around her finger

thoughtfully. "He's probably confirming the meeting tonight."

"Which reminds me, Harry, Dumbledore said she'd been staying with him since the beginning of the holidays, and had been quite depressed. Why'd you send her off?" Mr. Weasley easily, reaching over and taking the parchment off of Hedwig's leg.

Harry hesitated a moment, the winds of paranoia making him wonder just how innocent that potentially packed question was. He assessed for the barest of instants, then answered quickly, "She was really restless, and it was bothering the neighbors with her swooping in and out at all times, so I told her to go and find someplace more comfortable for the summer. She was probably just peeved at me." HE waited tensely a moment to see if his lie was questioned, but Mr. Weasley just nodded in understanding. Harry stroked Hedwig, and gently shooed her off his shoulder. She went, disappearing into the house.

"I'd like to do that with Pig," Grumbled Ron, fishing his little owl, Pigwidgeon out of his glass of water.

"But Ginny threatened to hex me. He doesn't even deliver mail, just flies around with Errol, annoying him. Stupid git."

"Ron!" Ginny snapped, scowling. "Don't be mean! He's just playful."

"More like awful. Annoying fluff-ball. A lot like you, actually, Gin." Ginny just grinned at him, and stuck her tongue out impishly.

"Ah, yes, Dumbledore will be here with...oh my, Molly, dear, you are going to need quite a bit of food tonight..." Mr. Weasley said, slightly unsettled.

Mrs. Weasley frowned. "How many is he bringing?"

"He's arriving at four o'clock with the whole lot. Most likely by the front door, as group apparation would be a bit too hazardous."

Mrs. Weasley tsked. "Oh for heavens sake, I'll have to start cooking now! It's already half past one, and they'll be starved by six!"

"I'll help Molly," Tonks said eagerly, knocking over her glass. Harry felt a sad sort of joy at seeing her energy. HE could vaguely remember such a feeling.

Mrs. Weasley looked at the young witch dubiously. "Er, well, Tonks-"

"Fudge wants to see us this afternoon," Moody broke in abruptly. Tonks just blinked, making eye-contact with him for a moment, before nodding.

"Thank you anyway, dear," said Molly, a fond little smile on her lips. She then turned to Hermione and Ginny. "Girls, I would appreciate _your_ help. We'll be cooking for about thirty, perhaps more if anyone else drops by early."

Hermione and Ginny gaped. "But where are they all going to _fit_ Mrs. Weasley?" Hermione asked, looking flustered, like the night before a paper was due.

"Well, this house has a good bit of magic in it, Hermione," Mr. Weasley answered.

"Expandable rooms, you see," Bill added.

"Right, the kitchen table does it too. We fit fifty around it once," Charlie said, crunching lazily on a crisp.

Mrs. Weasley nodded, turning to Fred, George, and Ron. "Boys, the house hasn't been properly

straightened in a while. I want you to go through a quick clean of all the rooms, alright?"

"Aw, but Mum-" Fred began. She shot him such a venomous look that the entire table fell silent. "Er, right."

She turned away from them, looking at Harry. Her mouth opened to speak, but she suddenly caught sight of his untouched plate. "Why, dear, you haven't touched a thing on your plate! Are you ill?" She looked ready to go into full-fledged mother hen mode, and Harry knew there would be no easy answers then. He shook his head quickly.

"No Mrs. Weasley, I'm fine. I just had a really large breakfast, and I'm not that hungry." Amazing how normal and light he could make his voice sound, over the constant scream of terror in his ears. His own yell of fear, his mind overwhelmed by ordinary tasks. He smiled at her.

She nodded, a small bit of concern remaining, but did not press the matter. "Well, Harry dear, I thought you could work on your homework until Dumbledore comes. Ron's told me your..._family_ doesn't really like you having our sort of stuff about."

Harry was careful to meet her eyes with a carefully shuttered gaze. 'doesn't really like...' _that_ was certainly a mild way of putting it. "Yeah, well, they have trouble understanding the magical world, and it sort of upsets them that they don't really get it, so I just like to keep it out their way if I can help it." The lie went down smoothly, and Mrs. Figg was not there to see through it. Even Mrs. Weasley did not seem as ruffled as she usually did when Harry mentioned the Dursleys. He was getting better at it, then.

"Yes well, this will be a good opportunity, then," she replied, smiling at him, and rising from her seat,clearing the table with a wave of her wand. Bill looked slightly put out, having still been nibbling at his crisps. She paid no mind, calling to Ginny and Hermione over her shoulder as she disappeared into the kitchen, "come on, then girls, we have a lot to do! And you boys had better get on it! I want this place to gleam!"

Everyone at the table dispersed, Harry and Ron sharing bracing looks as they went of to their respective tortures, though Harry was secretly glad he was given this opportunity without having to actually complete his summer work _voluntarily_. He retrieved his schoolbooks, spreading out parchment and quills over the kitchen table, and beginning to work.

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Harry had completed his final divination assignment an hour later, positive that telling the exam inspector that she should have died a week before he gave her the palm reading signaled his ultimate failure in divination. Not that he much cared. It was likely he wouldn't even graduate.

He was at a loss on his Transfigurations essay an hour after that, pondering the fact that he had

homework for classes he might not even have again, and cursing the fact that he couldn't seem to

accomplish anything, even when he struggled as hard as he could. Some savior _he_ was.

He smirked at that thought, no humor in the cold smile. _Savior_? honest to god, _someone_ had gotten turned around somewhere. Harry? A _savior_? HE felt the very idea was extremely foolish and utterly hopeless. The fact that even Dumbledore was depending on him to pull through and fulfill his destiny, prevailing for the light, was not only nerve-wracking, but caused a little something to die in Harry. The weak flame that was left inside his heart diminished at the consideration. HE knew he would fail. He was not strong enough to win the war. He was no hero. HE couldn't be the Savior they all wanted.

HE couldn't even do a Transfigurations essay, apparently. Frustration built within him, a helplessness he felt when dealing with his uncle, perhaps without the cold terror that usually filled him. "Hermione!" he called loudly, ashamed at himself for the irritation that leaked into his voice. He struggled to calm himself, balling up the piece of parchment he had been writing on, and tossing it up into the air, incinerating it before it began to fall back down.

Hermione came in through the door then, holding a cup of scalding tea, obviously prepared for him."What is it, Harry?" She said distractedly, pausing in the doorway, her eyes still on the activity in the kitchen.

"Hermione, how in the _hell_ can I have _four_ suitable animagus forms?" He asked, throwing down his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. If he couldn't get past something so simple, how was he supposed to overcome anything remotely significant?

Hermione actually gave a giggle, still not looking towards him. "Well, you can't Harry." There was a crash in the kitchen, and she winced, but did not go to Mrs. Weasley's and Ginny's aid. "Here let me help." She started towards him, her gaze gravitating to his form. "Mrs. Weasley made you some-" And the teacup suddenly tumbled out of her hands, landing with an impressive crash, and she let out terrified, shriek, her face going pale. Her eyes were focused behind Harry, wide and full of fear.

Harry turned quickly, the adrenaline already stirring inside him, to see before him, at least a dozen

figures in dark cloaks, their faces hooded. He couldn't focus on anything, couldn't seem to point out a single detail about the looming, deadly figures invading the kitchen. And then he saw it. On one of their arms, the sleeve of their robes pulled up, the Dark Mark, black and evil. He did not have his glasses on, but even the blurred image was unmistakable.

Without thinking, Harry threw himself backwards out of his chair, landing awkwardly on his back, the chair toppling as he drew his wand, shouting the first spell that came to mind. Again, Hermione gave a cry, though it was not loud enough to drown out Harry's yell of "PROTEGO!" Aa a giant Silver wall of mist sprang up between himself and the cloaked figures with a loud bang.

And then, after the flurry of movement and noise and light that had happened in the barest of instants, all was silent. No one moved. Harry held his breath, willing his muscles to respond to him again, praying something, anything would happen.

After a frozen moment, the spell was broken, footsteps came pounding in from every direction, voices shouting worriedly. All the Weasley's were suddenly crowded into the kitchen, looking severely panicked. All had there wands drawn. Harry noticed Lupin was not present.

Still, no spells were cast. Harry's hearing was dulled by the sound of his own heart thudding wildly in his brain. And then, suddenly, Hermione let out a loud gasp, and a small peal of laughter. Harry did not turn his head from staring at the blurry figures, who were moving now, lowering their hoods, but his mouth dropped open in appalled shock at her giggles.

"What the hell is going on?" Fred's voice asked, as Harry's legs finally listened to his commands, and he scrambled to his feet, the silver wall of light still in place.

"Oh for heaven's _sake_!" Mrs. Weasley said, sounding irritated. Harry wondered bewilderedly what he'd done. There were death-eaters in the kitchen. Why was no one fighting?

"What is all the trouble about?" Charlie asked, sounding confused. "And why is there a shield up?"

"Because Harry apparently deemed it fit to put it there." Harry froze at hearing the voice, the bottom dropping out of his stomach. The person who had spoken was none other than Albus Dumbledore.

"Wha-?" He asked dazedly, a sense of foolishness creeping up on him.

"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry," Hermione said, still laughing in a relieved sort of way, as Harry grabbed frantically for his glasses, setting them back on his face to look bewilderedly around at everyone.

"What in the bloody hell did you _Do_, mate?" Ron asked him, looking very confused. Harry could not blame him. After all, his shield was now preventing almost the entire staff of Hogwarts from proceeding further into the kitchen.

Wonderful. Another opportunity to make himself look like a first-class ass. _That_ he had accomplished beautifully.

"It was my fault," Hermione said from the chair where she was now seated, her giggles subsiding slightly. "I screamed when I saw them, and startled Harry." He didn't find any humor in the situation.

"And no wonder!" Said Mrs. Weasley, sounding very severe, but her glare was not directed at Harry or Hermione, but the group of teachers. "Apparating into the house in black hooded robes! Looking like a bunch of Death-Eaters! It's no surprise you gave him such a turn."

Dumbledore tapped Harry's shield with his wand, and it dissolved completely, allowing all of them to move further into the kitchen. "Ah, a slight miscalculation on my part, Molly. I apologize."

"Although perhaps it could have been avoided if Potter had bothered to _look_ before he cursed,"

Severus Snape sneered, his left sleeve still pushed up.

"He didn't have his glasses on, Professor!" Hermione said.

"I looked long enough to see your arm," Harry replied coldly, his gaze boring into Snape, as he felt himself shake slightly from his former fear. HE had come to terms with accepting that Snape was not to blame for the death of Sirius, and that that fault lay entirely with him, but he still despised the man. Harry deserved a chance to be his own person, not his father's son. That conviction had not yet been beaten out of him.

There was a very nasty silence. A cold bit of satisfaction came to Harry, as Snape quickly rolled down his sleeve, looking carefully nonchalant. He did not look away from the Potions Master, until Mr. Weasley suddenly cleared his throat, looking uneasy. "Well, hello, everyone!"

And the unnaturalness ended, Mr. And Mrs. Weasley at once moving in to greet the large group of Hogwarts staff members, accompanied by Bill and Charlie. Harry stepped back quietly beside Fred, George, Ron, Hermione and Ginny, all watching rather uncomfortably as he tried to still his trembling limbs. It is never a pleasant experience to have your teacher in your home, and to have a large majority of them? All were reluctant to breath too loudly.

Harry studied the mass, watching their interactions with the Weasleys. Odd how different they were from their time at Hogwarts, and how they did not change at all. Such was the human nature.

"You're a bit earlier than expected, Professor Dumbledore, so I'm afraid we're not quite ready for you," Mrs. Weasley said, when everyone had been greeted respectively.

"That's quite alright, Molly, I'm sure we can all help," Professor McGonagall said, and Harry noticed she was still leaning on a walking stick for support. Anger rushed through him, the memory of the night Umbridge had set the Ministry lackeys on Hagrid still fresh in his mind.

Mrs. Weasley suddenly rounded on them all. "Well? Aren't you going to say hello?" The children all stared at her as though she had grown a second head, their gazes swinging simultaneously to their teachers. No one spoke.

It was Hermione who came to her senses first. "Hello, Professors!" She said brightly, though her voice was a bit fast. All the others quickly followed suit, accompanied by much stuttering. Harry slipped his own greeting in quietly, sure that many had not heard him. His claustrophobia was suddenly growing on him, the people seeming to close in on him. He could almost feel his air disappearing. He ran his hand through his hair, tugging on the messy mop in distress. A shiver ran though him.

At that instant, Ginny gave a slight yelp, having been sniffing the air. A burning aroma was filling the room. "Mum! The _sauce!_" She cried, before turning and disappearing into the kitchen. Hermione hurried after her.

"Oh dear," Mrs. Weasley sighed. She turned to follow them, stopping for a moment to look at Ron, Fred, George, and Harry. "Harry dear, will you and the others set the table please? Might as well do it now."

"Of course, Mrs. Weasley," Harry replied, trying to keep his breathing even.

To his surprise, she glared at him. "Harry, what did Arthur tell you?"

Of course, he had forgotten. He cursed himself mentally. "Er...r-right. Of course...M-Molly." He stumbled over the word, distinctly uncomfortable with treating her as an _equal_. She was the closest thing to a mother he had ever had, and he admired her entire family with such intensity, it sometimes frightened him.

Mrs. Weasley nodded at him. "Thank you, dear."

"Just a moment, Molly, we'll come and help!" Called Camille Sprout, her flyaway gray hair as wild as ever. The female professors followed her into the kitchen.

After a moment's silence, Mr. Weasley cleared his throat, looking at the few remaining teachers,

including Dumbledore. "Perhaps we ought to go and look at-" he began, and all of them immediately knew what he was talking about. Soon, only the four boys were left. Harry took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment.

" _Molly_?" Ron asked, giving Harry a strange look.

"Order policy, Ron," George said, moving to get silverware from a corner cupboard.

"Yeah, even _we_ have to call her Molly during meetings," Fred said with a sigh.

Harry felt a sudden need to escape them all, if only for a moment. The barrier that seemed to separate him from the rest of the world sometimes had suddenly reared up twenty meters tall, and three yards thick. The fleeting sense of inclusion he had felt disappeared like a whisper in the wind. "I'll, uh, just go put my stuff away," he said quietly, grabbing up his homework from the table. The three brothers nodded at him absently, and he slipped quickly out of the kitchen, up to his room.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

It took no more than a minute to dump his stuff on his bed, with a vague realization that the bedcovers and the draperies had all been changed, a fresh coat of paint thrown on the room. Another part of his Godfather slipping quietly out of memory. Gone forever, never to return. He pushed down the sudden tears that threatened, making his way, instead to the w.c.

That was the way it had worked all summer. Harry would be fine one moment- well, as fine as he ever seemed to be these days- and suddenly his vision would blur with hot, salty moisture that he had not let fall since that one night at the Hogwarts lake last spring.

When he got to the bathroom, he pulled the door to, turning to examine himself in the mirror. He looked rather unwell, his face the same sort of unnatural white that Snape's possessed. That idea was more repulsive than the actual state of his complexion.

His eyes were probably the most different, he conceded after a moment of personal deliberation. They were still his mother's eyes, almond and delicate in shape, the irises a rather stunning shade of jade, but they were not the eyes he has been born with. There had been a sparkle there once, he remembered, perhaps more like a flame. They seemed cold and clouded now, unaware of what they were seeing. A direct reflection of his soul, as everyone always said.

HE felt it was almost a pity they were not as blind as they appeared. Then he would not have to face the mornings anymore, would not have to awaken to the warm, bathing light that only made the darkness in his spirit feel that much colder. That much more alone. He had never really considered the fact before, but the idea came to him suddenly that he was suicidal. He marveled at the lack of fear this realization invoked in him. It's only accomplishment was to racket up his self-loathing another meager notch in the peg.

His hair had not changed, he mused reflectively. It never seemed to grow any longer, nor would it stay short for a very long time. Harry counted it as a blessing for the moment, as it covered the dark area on his temple created by his uncle. Luck on his part, perhaps? Or another damning hint that he was not worth the trouble of discovery?

The door behind him opened suddenly, and in stepped Remus, his eyes blood-shot. " 'lo, Harry," he said softly, his voice cracking. Harry took a step away from the sink to let him move in. He turned the spigot on and began to rise his face in cold water.

There was silence as he dried his face off, before he suddenly turned to Harry, his lids no longer

red-rimmed. "What was the commotion downstairs?"

Harry smiled thinly. "Just me, Remus, making an ass of myself."

"Oh? What did you do?" HE seemed a little more together now, intrigued. That had been Harry's plan. He would not let this man suffer more grief than he had to. He felt his list of blames might never cease.

"The teachers got here early, dressed in black robes and hooded cloaks of all things. Hermione screamed and I turned around -without my glasses on- and saw them as well. The only other thing I noticed was the Dark Mark on Snape's arm before I panicked."

"He probably did _that_ on purpose," Remus said darkly. "What did you do? Try to knock the whole lot out?"

"No, thank God. I just put up a shield. It was a mess," Harry said, expecting a sort of poking laughter from his former professor.

To his surprise, Lupin just put a hand on his shoulder. "At least you protected yourself. Now everyone knows how you'd react if the situation actually arose. Your quick thinking is something to be proud of, not embarrassed about, even if it was a false alarm."

Harry shrugged, a horrible feeling welling up within him that Lupin was commending him instead of condemning him. The boy who had been responsible for the murders of three of his closest friends did not deserve praise. That dead, hollow space inside him seemed to widen, and Harry had the wild sense for an instant that he might collapse in on it, letting it swallow him down from the inside out.

"Well, I've...got to go help Ron and the twins set the table. Uh, Mr. Weasley and some other Professors have disappeared somewhere to....discuss something." He said, desperate to fill up the emptiness with anything tangible.

"Ah, well, I suppose I'd better go join them, then," Lupin said, turning to look at himself again in he mirror. He sighed at the grief-stricken face he saw, and Harry felt his throat close up, the word_ guilty_ seemingly being burned into his brain by a hot iron.

"Right, well, see you at dinner, then," Harry sad quietly, fighting to keep his voice steady as he turned to leave.

"Harry?" Lupin's voice stopped him dead in his tracks. He hesitantly turned his head back to look at the wizard. Remus was silent for a moment, looking at him with such an intensity that Harry had a fleeting and horrifying thought that he suspected something. But then, Lupin spoke. "We'll get through this you know."

Harry felt like screaming. No we _won't_!_I_ won't! I can't! I'm not strong enough...He just nodded solemnly, and proceeded downstairs.

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_Now, for my few remaining reviewers, whom I love dearly._

**FSI:** Uhm, this fic may eventually be a H/Hr or H/G, but firstly, Cho Chang should die, and secondly, that's not really what this fic is about. It's more about an introspective look on Harry and how sucky his world has gotten, but how people are there who are going to help him through. So, sorry if it doesn't meet your expectations, but thanks for your review.

**Krys:** I don't know how to tell me how much your reviews have always meant to me! I don't think anyone is in on Harry's (Or is it Vernon's) secret yet, but they will be, and that sorry sack of goat poop will get got good. And I think Harry's in for a return trip, but not for long, and I promise to rescue him! Thanks for all the ideas, and just reading my fic in general!

**Mara:** I'm so glad you think I qualify! Sorry this chappie took so long! I don't know if romance is going to fit in, because I don't know if Harry can handle that at this point in his life, but It may be H/Hr or H/G at one point, or may at least end up pointing in that direction.

**Goldilocks:** Angst is what I'm going for. This was your chappie for a lil action, though it wasn't much, and I am gonna try for some romance, though it ma not be key in this story. I'm also thinking about throwing in a little RL/NT on the side, because I love 'em both. Thanks for the review!

* * *

_Right, well, I am running out of the story that's already been written (I Had about thirty or forty pages) And if I don't get a good response for this chappie, I may abandon it. Tell you what, if I get a good number of Reviews, I make Snape do a dance for you! With a hula skirt and everything! (This is me being pathetically desperate) Snapie does a mean macarena! (Spelling?)_

_Ok, I didn't want to have to do this, but ::kneels down and clasps hands:: _PLEASE PLEASE **_PRETTY PLEASE_ _REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_** _I am beggin, pleading, doing cartwheels, whatever the hell will work! I don't care if it's flames and you hate my story, just so long as I know people have read it! I put out my longest chapter yet for you this time! My ego has been diagnosed with the horrible "Nobody Cares" disease, and can only be saved by your reviews! (Hey, it worked for TinkerBell, or was that clapping...)_

_REVIEW!_

_NOW!_

_I'm not kidding....._


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